Marceline The Tutor
by Final Exam Deadlines
Summary: Eager to hone his much lacking rap skills, Finn turns to his friend Marceline for guidance.
1. Hanging Out

_Author's Note: For those who don't know, the '/' shows where the beat is. Also, this website is stupid and wouldn't let me put space between the paragraphs, so I had to TYPE OUT the word 'transition' like a tool. Anyway, this is based on the continuity gap between Finn's pathetic excuse for a "freestyle political rap" in Daddy's Little Monster, and his super sick battle rap duet with Marceline against the Lich in the comics. Enjoy._

Marceline lay on the bed in her room, doing nothing in particular. She didn't even have the energy to _float_. Turning her head to one side, she glimpsed the lingering daylight slipping down the jagged protrusions of her cave. She hadn't bothered to turn the television off, and the cheesy B grade acting of _Heat Signature_ drifted into the room. She had only seen the film about a thousand times—and that wasn't an exaggeration either. She had _kinda_ been around for a while. It was the only VHS she owned, after all, the only one she had managed to get her hands on. Well, there _was_ movie night, but that hadn't lasted very long.

Just then, the phone rang. She leapt up out of her oppressive lethargy and nearly tore the thing out of the wall. She was incredibly grateful to hear Finn's perpetually cheerful voice drift from the receiver:

"Hey MC, how's it hanging?" He couldn't see it, but Marceline was beaming, to the point of showing a few sharpened incisors. It was amazing how quickly one's mood could change, under the proper circumstances.

"I'm pretty good, man, how's everything with you?"

"Better than I have _ever been_." He paused for effect. "And I mean that literally."

She laughed. "_Okay_, psycho, what are you _actually_ calling for?"

"I am…very glad you asked," He replied slyly. "I've been working on some sick raps, and I was thinking maybe _you_ could give me some feedback."

"_Hmmmmm_..." She rubbed her non-existent stubble in mock consideration. "…All right, sounds cool. Come on over."

"Awesome," He said, chuckling slightly. "See you in a bit then."

"See you." She hung the phone back up on the hook and sighed, more out of relief than anything else. It _would_ be nice to have some company for a change, wouldn't it? ...Now what to do while she waited? The bed again, she supposed.

(Transition)

"It's still in development…" Finn said hesitantly. "So, try not to harsh_ too_ hard on my mellow, okay?"

"No worries, man. You're in a safe place." Marceline was reclining to a ridiculous degree, her entire lower torso hanging off the end of her unpadded armchair, still a bit too lazy for levitation. She put aside the bag of stale—yet previously unopened—tortilla chips she had found under her fridge and gave him all of her attention.

Finn stood across from her and fished a diminutive boombox from his pack. He set it on the floor, plugged it in, and deposited an unintelligibly scribbled-on cassette tape within its apparatus. He pressed play and a simplified, impromptu beat—clearly a Jake the Dog production—reverberated from the twin speakers on wings of heavy bass.

"_Unh_," He began. "This is the warm up part. Before I get ready-_freddy_."

Marceline merely smiled and watched expectantly.

"Okay, here we _go_. 'Bout to _kill _it. _Alright_, unh, _unh_…My name is _Finn_…I'm here to _win_…I'll take you for a spin then I'll toss you in a _bin_!"

The recording was then abruptly and emphatically cut short, no doubt to punctuate his dominant stage presence and ruthless punchlines. His smile was so ludicrously wide she knew he would be just as invested in her reaction as she was in his initial performance— if not more so.

"That…" She chose her next words with surgical precision. "Wasn't _too_ bad, Finn…like you said, it's in development. There's…always room for…_improvement_."

If disappointment was a defined substance with weight and volume, Finn would've filled the room with it. She desperately wished to change the subject.

"_Um_. So…wanna hear something I cooked up?" She asked. His eyes lit up at this new proposition.

"Of _course_. Drop some _knowledge_ on me, Marc."

"Thought I told you not to call me that," She snapped. "Anyway, it doesn't really have a _name_, but it sounds pretty cool, I guess…mind turning the beat back on?"

"_Do_ it, sister_!_" The radio's small, square button was mercilessly slammed back down into its recession, and the steady rhythm of canine origin once more filled the room. Marceline cleared her throat, relaxed her mind and muscles, and moved to the beat. And then…

_Marceline Scream Queen/ night terror dream theme_

_All-around scheme fiend/ deemed obscene glean green_

_Lean supreme careen scene/ bleed clean stream steam_

_Mean genes breed unclean/ serene keen in benzene_

_Devour your brain/ use your skull as a canteen_

_Scour your cavities/ corrode your soul like gangrene_

_Namesake of depravity/ pain-staking in clarity_

_Taking a break/ from shaping catastrophe_

_Allowing you to die/ with dignity is a charity_

_I unwind when I dine/ on misery in my majesty_

_A glorious reign/ with millennial length_

_A notorious beast/ with sentinel strength_

_My victorious swath/ leaves a feast for the flies_

_With haste head east/ and lay waste to the skies_

_Bet you've never met a de/mon as graceful as I_

_Spread hope just to snuff/ it so distastefully kind_

_Biding my time/ Armageddon arrives_

_Don't be surprised/ not many survive_

_And all who remain/ are all empty inside_

_Think you're safe in isolation/ I will break through your mind_

_Take what I find/ take what is mine_

_While you cry and I sa/vor the look in your eyes_

_Sample the flavor/ that hopelessness hides_

_Built on the labor/ apostles provide_

Finn sat on the floor in stunned silence for a moment, ears still attempting somewhat futilely to fathom what they had just heard.

"Woah." He paused, unsatisfied. That hadn't done it justice. "That was…_tops_. That was…_astronomical_."

"You really like it, huh?" She asked, only the tiniest bit pleased with herself. "I'm _alright_, I suppose." The modesty was genuine too.

"So I guess I was pretty bad then, huh?" He asked, with a little less enthusiasm.

"Well, yeah, _kinda_," Marceline said reluctantly. She was then caught slightly off guard as Finn bowed like a medieval knight.

"Oh Marceline, _Queen_ of the undead. It would be my _honor_ if you would take me, a lowly peasant boy, under your wing to instruct me in the ways of the funky fresh and those dope on the mic."

She frowned.

"Finn, I could _literally_ take you under my wing…_ehhh_, alright. I just want you to know I don't know the first _thing_ about teaching. I guess I'll give it a try. But you're gonna need to give me some time."

"I shall patiently await your tutelage, m'lady."

"Would you _please_ stop talking like that?"

(Transition)

"See ya, Marsheezy!" Finn called as he hurried home.

Marsheezy stood in the darkening archway and slumped to one side. Just what had she agreed to? Well, for one, something to do for the next couple of weeks. She supposed that was worthwhile. She withdrew from the damp, suffocating air into the false light of her home. If she was going to do this, she would have to _re_-learn practically everything she knew.

Once she was able to find it—a Herculean task in and of itself—she flicked on the light-switch in the old library she never used. Engorged shelves had eventually conceded defeat and spewed their gluttonous feast, leaving a vast and unfathomable ocean of crumpled pages and upturned bindings where the floor once was.

"_Jeez_," Marceline said aloud, giving voice to the empathy she felt for the uninhabited closet. She drifted over the swamp of paper, coming to rest at a far shelf that was entombed in dust. She began to look through the few aging tomes that had remained upright. In her search, in addition to the numerous musical history books she found (Among them _The Culture of Hip-Hop_, _The Birthplace of Blues_, _The American Folk Music Revival_, and _Robot Rock: The Daft Punk Story_) she also happened upon a plethora of novels and nonfiction books, some of which were older than _her_. She recalled being read to often when she was a child, but the specifics eluded her. She wondered why she hadn't visited this humble little hole in the ground in so long. She had nearly forgotten it, and yet it seemed this gargantuan anthology was perfectly suited to her hermetic lifestyle. It'd certainly be better than crappy, outdated movies on a loop.


	2. Lessons Start

Day 1

Finn opened his eyes gingerly, bracing himself against the inevitable assault of the sun. To his pleasant surprise, there was a dense shadow that shielded his fragile corneas from Ooo's obnoxious, natural alarm clock. Except—the shadow seemed to be hovering, drifting leisurely up and down.

"Uhhhh…_Marceline_?" He queried wearily.

"'Sup?"

Jake stirred in his hastily constructed cocoon of covers, jerking erratically. "Wha's goin'…_on_, man…" He muttered in barely intelligible fashion, still half asleep.

"Time for your first lesson, dude. Come on." She lay comfortably atop the soft oxygen, resting her head on folded arms. She smiled unassumingly.

"I…I haven't even had _breakfast_ yet," Finn said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and swinging his legs around to his side of the bed.

"_Oh_, don't worry about _that_, I made you guys waffles and eggs. Figured it was the least I could do."

On that note, Jake's eyes flew open. "Dude. _Free_ _breakfast_."

"Jake, I _don't_—" Finn tried his hand at speech, but failed rather miserably.

"We were just offered FREE—BREAKFAST. That's a once in a _lifetime_ opportunity. You gotta learn to appreciate things like that, man."

Finn looked back over at Marceline, who was grinning like a fiend and must have been having some sort of rare eyebrow spasm. The brows in question oscillated rapidly up and down in a rather persuasive manner. He groaned and rubbed his temple.

"_Fine_," He said begrudgingly, which was expelled from his lungs more as a breath than a word.

(Transition)

It soon became readily apparent to everyone—with the _exception_ of Marceline—that there was a good reason the vampire never prepared meals for anyone, even herself. The waffles were an artisan's blend of stale, fibrous grains and carcinogenic ash. And the eggs…? Well, let's just say neither of them wanted to _touch_ her eggs, in the interest of keeping their flesh intact.

"WOW MARCELINE I HAVE TRULY NEVER HAD A BETTER BREAKFAST THAN THE ONE BEFORE ME NOW," Jake emphatically exclaimed, overselling it even as he slid everything he hadn't eaten onto Finn's plate behind her back.

"Thanks, Jake," She said smiling as she turned off the stove and proceeded to wash the pan of yolky byproduct. "I usually don't have to make food for people, but, hey, as long as Finn is trying something new, I thought I might as well give it a shot."

Finn stared at the horrible abomination of nature below him, his face twisting irreversibly into a Picasso-esque caricature of itself. He tried not to cry.

When she had finished destroying the evidence, Marceline turned and sat across from her newly traumatized friends.

"…So I guess I should start this off by saying that rap music is a lot more than talking fast over a catchy beat. It's an art form with many intricacies that is only part of the larger culture of Hip-Hop. Or well, it _was_, anyway, until humanity was practically wiped out."

"_Hnnnnnnnn_…" Jake checked the watch produced by his skin. "Alright, well, I'm gonna go on a life changing adventure now. Just let me know when you guys are done. With this." With that he excused himself from the table and climbed down their personal ladder. Finn stood to follow him, but not before turning to his new teacher.

"Just a sec, Marcy, aiight? Just gonna see Jake out."

"_Oh_, okay. Take your time, man. I got nowhere to be."

And with that he and Jake were standing by the front door, conspiring in confidence.

"…But I mean, _man_ were those eggs horrible. I thought they were gonna eat _me_!"

A particularly piercing glare from Finn made him consider an addendum.

"…And,_ uh_…sorry for giving you _mine_."

The hero's gaze remained notably sedimentary. "…Well, good luck with your adventure, man."

"Thanks. Good luck with your lesson. Hopefully it's as exciting as whatever _crazy_ hi-jinks I get myself into." On his way out the door Jake added: "After she's done teaching you to rap, maybe Marceline could stick around and I could teach her how to _cook_."

"Stereotype subverted," Finn replied. "Heh." This exchange was consummated by a fist-bump of prestigious friendshipitude and radical bromanticality.

When Finn went back upstairs, he found his vampiric tutor drumming on various kitchen appliances with the makeshift sticks she had fashioned from leftover silverware. She turned to see her student waiting patiently, hands folded, in a posture clearly expressive of his eagerness to learn.

"So…" She began, immediately tossing her utensils aside. "Where were we?

"Not even _I_ was alive in its heyday, and by the time I was old enough to even comprehend what music was, _all_ of the old musicians were gone. All we had were a bunch of leftover records, but that was all I ever needed. _Run DMC_, _Grandmaster Flash_, _Public Enemy_…_Curtis Mayfield_—_okay_, so it wasn't all rap, but it was _all_ beautiful. _Formative_. Back in their time many of them lived in horrible conditions, with no guarantee of a future. Death was a constant threat, and trust was always fragile at best. So basically, I could relate pretty easily. Our experiences were different, but_ similar_."

Finn looked out over the horizon and wondered what Jake was doing. By this point he had probably enlisted himself in the jetpack-grasshopper navy and was conducting Cold War caliber espionage against the fearsome trebuchet toads.

"For them, music was an escape from their surroundings. In more ways than one. Rapping was a way to forget about your troubles, sure. But if you got good enough at it, maybe you could get signed to a label, make some money, and move somewhere else. Life on Earth was okay—if you could afford to live in a decent place where you and your family's lives weren't threatened daily."

Oh no! Agent Hopper has been discovered! They're taking him deep into enemy territory for enhanced interrogation! Abort mission! _Abort mission_! Covering fire on the lily pads! Sending an away team now to retrieve the package!

"…Finn? You listenin', buddy?"

He was, in fact, the picture of _ADD_, a bit of drool ever so slightly trailing the corner of his mouth and a wondrous, faraway gleam in his eyes.

"—_Huh_? What? Oh—listening? Of _course_."

"Soooo, what did I just say?"

"Um. _Uhhhhh_…sorry?"

Marceline just groaned, throwing her hands in the air in impatience.

Day 2

"Rhymes are pretty important for rapping, man."

"Ah."

"But seriously, without rhymes, it would just be poetry spoken to a beat. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with poetry—in fact, there's a lot of poetry _in_ rap—but that's not what we're going for."

Finn nodded, exhausting all of his mental energy in a valiant attempt to stay focused.

"But aside from that, the constraints for this sorta thing are fairly loose. Sure, it's good to have an extensive vocabulary. Rhyming _words_ is what you do. But it's more important to think of them as _syllables_ first. If you break a word down to its parts, you can rhyme that one word with two. So, like, _cauldron _and _all in_. _Caul_ with _all_, and _ron _with _in_. This can be really helpful, especially when you find a word that just _doesn't _rhyme with anything else."

Marceline was positive he was listening, what with his butt tethered to the sofa by an impossibly thin thread, imperceptible to the human (or vampire) eye; he was leaning so far forward he seemed to be a fearsome lion posed to tackle some helpless prey. But she wasn't sure he was _getting_ it.

"Er…Finn, if you have any questions at all, I want you to ask me, okay?"

"Gotcha."

She _almost_ continued her lesson.

"So…_do_ you have any questions?"

"Nope."

Her lips pursed.

"So what you're telling me is you understand _everything_ I just said."

"_Um_. I think so."

"You _think_ so?"

"Well, it _seems_ pretty simple. I don't know what I—"

She shrieked and punched out a nearby light fixture, her arm taking the form of a muscular bat limb seconds before impact.

"Oh _glob_, I'm sorry—" There was a slight register of panic in her voice. "I didn't mean to—" She let out a warbling, frustrated cry.

"…Give me a minute, will you?" She floated into the other room and dropped heavily into a chair, tilting her head back as far as it would go and blowing her scraggily, unwashed hair from her eyes. Finn waited for at least that long, then gingerly approached the kitchen, making sure the waters weren't still typhonic.

"…You okay, Marcy?" He asked, settling into a chair a good distance away.

"…Yeah. I'm sorry Finn, my temper really _sucks_." She started to fiddle with a small sliver of wood that was loose on the back of her seat.

"We can always get back to this tomorrow," He said. "I'd understand if you didn't feel up to it."

"No," She replied, looking straight at him through narrowed eyes. "_Thanks_, but I think we should keep going. I'll _try_ to not be such a jerk." She smiled. "…I do feel like we both need some incentive though…If we get through this session alive, let's play some videogames, okay? We can even invite Jake. That is, if you _want_."

Finn laughed. "I think Jake and his life-changing adventure are too good for us."

"_Definitely_ too busy for vidja games," She confirmed. "…So, _syllables_! We already know they're great when you're hurtin' for rhymes, but they also help if you want to rhyme more than just _dog _with _log_. Going back to our favorite word, _cauldron_, we got _maudlin_, _squadron_, _stalling_, _falling_. Those were all _imperfect rhymes_, and they're _awesome_."


	3. Groceries

Day 4

_Groceries_. Though Marceline didn't share many of the same needs as the various denizens of the Candy Kingdom, there were still a number of things she required to continue living a relatively convenient and calm life. In addition to the basic household amenities, she had gathered a rather impressive arrangement of red things: several cartons of strawberries, a couple of rather plump tomatoes, a can of cranberry sauce, the severed rinds of various exotic cheeses; bountiful grapefruits, red peppers and onions—apples and plenty of raw meat, as well as red frostings, fillings and icing, and even a small bottle of red food coloring, as shameful as it was.

As an undead being, she didn't exactly _need_ to eat, but if she didn't have any red pigment for a while, she would start to feel weaker, irritable—more so than usual—and dizzy, which was accompanied by some sharp, decidedly unpleasant fluctuating pain in her stomach. She would survive, but the experience was often unbearable.

It was difficult _not _to notice the hordes of children running around, with an equivalent amount of parents chasing them down, yelling at them in atomic fits of rage, or simply just ignoring them. There were people shouting or laughing into their phones, people rummaging through shelves and refrigerators; there were people who were not so subtly shoplifting, and employees who moved back and forth between aisles, restocking snack bags that had just been lifted. It even appeared that there was a homeless man sleeping in one of the far corners of the room. At least, Marceline hoped he was asleep.

There were just so _many _people. She would've expected such a voluminous population in a larger establishment, but the store's one cashier, one register and five aisles of foodstuffs simply couldn't contain it. The anarchic throng of voices coalesced to form one horrible mass—a steady, monotonous drone that beat relentlessly against her eardrums and worked its way into her skull. Had the ceiling _always_ been that low?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a small girl running into her leg and taking off. Marceline shifted awkwardly in response, offering an uncertain, half-hearted apology that went unheard. She would easily outlive the child, not to mention any kids of her own she might have. She sighed and got into the mercifully short line for checkout. Not so merciful however, was the conflict going on at the register. One just like _every_ other contrived convenience store conflict that inevitably solved nothing and only made the process exponentially more excruciating for everyone involved.

"…I _figured_ I could leave my wallet here for _five_ minutes and you would at least _watch_ it for me, seeing how little _else_ you do." The aging woman moved in slow, visibly painful intervals, but with violent, passionate intent.

"We're sorry, ma'am, but store policy states that all customers' personal belongings are their own responsibility. If you had _asked_ me to watch it, I gladly would've, but I just don't remember you stopping by."

And of course this was holding up the line, which only made the people behind and in front of Marceline shout louder, angrier, and with more obscenities. The drone became a nauseating, rhythmic pulsation.

"Don't _remember_?" The woman spat, disregarding her growing number of detractors. "I walked right _past_ you! That's the problem with your generation, you know, never paying attention to your surroundings."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," The clerk said again, displaying his almost _saint_-like patience. "Would you like me to call the police for you?"

"_No_, because I caught a glimpse of the thief right before she ran off!" She spun about as quickly as her stale, arthritic candy-joints would allow her to, and pointed straight at Marceline. "_Give me back my wallet_, _globdurnit_!"

Up until this point, the vampire had just been trying to block out the whole ordeal. She tried to breathe evenly, despite the fact that it was not necessary for her survival. It wasn't working very well.

"_What_…?" She was only vaguely aware of the situation. "You…think…I—_stole—_"

"I _saw_ you do it, don't_ bother_ lying! I _know_ your type—I can _tell_ you're a criminal just by _looking_ at you. That _filthy_, disheveled hair, that pale skin—"

"I'm _not_ a thief," Marceline wanted to sound furious and indignant, but instead her voice came out shaky, with a touch of fear. "I'm _not_ a criminal—"

"If you're so _sure_ you didn't do it then turn out your _pockets_!" She turned to the other shoppers, as if she expected them to rally around her. "She's _hiding_ it in her _clothes_!"

"I'm not _doing_ that, you— _you_—_crazy old_ _hag_!" But the next thing she knew, the woman had thrown herself at her, screaming and clawing futilely at her clothes with her stubby, ineffectual fingers.

"Get _off_ of me!"

The woman was shoved hard, falling to the tile floor on her rear. At this point in time, the force of the impact caused a small, brown leather pouch to fall from her pocket. She turned slowly, curiously, to inspect the familiar object.

"…_Oh_." She scanned the observant faces of the crowd and felt a twinge of embarrassment, if not remorse.

And then there was Marceline, whose entire body was trembling, lungs expanding and contracting at irregular pace.

"…_What._"

The woman could only stare dumbly ahead in response.

"_It was in your pocket the whole time_?!"

She recoiled, shrinking away from the suddenly intimidating night-dweller.

"_What is WRONG with you?!_"

The woman—who still seemed _old_ despite being very likely hundreds of years younger than her—cowered, raising a single, quivering hand to shield her face.

"_Please_…take whatever you want. Just _don't_ hurt me…"

"Wait, _what_?" Confusion and mild panic swiftly reverted back to anger. "…_No_. No, that's not _fair_. You're not allowed to be the victim here. _You_—"

Marceline stopped when she noticed the huddled form at her feet, whimpering pathetically, tears running down her face. Mostly everyone was staring at them now, though no one said anything. Her entire body drooped, all of the air leaving her in one breath. She stared at the floor, still shaking uncontrollably.

"Ma'am?"

"_Huh_?" She looked around in a disoriented haze, trying to find the source of the voice.

"I can take you now, if you'd like." It was the clerk behind the counter, large brown paper shopping bags at the ready. His face looked consolatory.

"_Wha_—I—_uh_—" She floundered, trying to make the words make sense. "…Thanks." She stepped around the kneeling woman and began to ring up her things.

(Transition)

When Marceline arrived, Finn was waiting by the door. She walked past him and collapsed onto the tree fort's one large sofa.

"I'm sorry Finn," She said. "Can we just play _Super Guts Punch _tonight? I'm not really up to having a lesson right now."

"That's cool, that's cool," He nodded rigorously and took a seat next to her. "The original?"

"Mmmm…not the _original_. The spin-off, with…multiplayer party games?"

Finn's face practically supernovaed at this news, his eyes blossoming to spiraling Milky Way galaxies.

"_Awesome._"

(Transition)

Finn, Jake, and Marceline were all huddled around a smiling, giggling BMO, swinging controller clutching arms in wide, animated arcs, intently invested in the on-screen action. Marceline gained a significant strategic advantage over her floppy-eared friend and cried out triumphantly.

"_Suck it_, Jake! Eat my _cowtapult_!"


	4. Untitled Song

Day 6

"Okay, can you go back over the basics for me again?"

"Um…let me think."

"_Finn_…"

"_Wait_! I got this…four beats in a bar, sixteen bars in a verse, and three verses to a song."

"_Hey_! You remembered!" Marceline slapped him five. "Good job."

"…And, you put the stress on every second beat…and…_and_…bars should be connected by at _least_ one rhyme."

"_Woah_, slow _down_ man. Think you might hurt yourself." She teased. In Finn's experience, she had been in a pleasant mood all day.

"As helpful as structure is though, it's good to realize that the rules are only there so you can _play_ with them. I mean, most of _my_ songs are only a single verse. I don't even remember the last time I wrote one of those with _exactly_ sixteen bars."

Jake threw a ball somewhere behind them, waiting for it to hit the wall and bounce back so he could repeat the process.

"So. Finn, why don't you see what you can do with everything you've learned? You could take your time and write something, _or_ you could try to make something up on the spot…"

Finn nodded with nervous enthusiasm, breathing in so deeply his gut nearly imploded. It was one thing to make a fool of yourself when you knew nothing, but _this_ time around Marceline would be expecting improvement. And sure she was his teacher, but she was his friend first and foremost.

"…Alright." He braced himself for failure. "…Swear to my _lord_ I'll cut you with my _sword_, just because I was _bored_, ask yourself if that's _something_ you can really afford…_uh_…"

"Not bad. Not _bad_, pupil," She folded her arms and nodded her head in approval. "Rhythm needs serious work and there were _way_ too many syllables near the end there, unless you wanted to connect that to another new line…but, yeah._ That_ was two whole bars."

"Um…so I guess that's a cause for celebration, _eh_?" Jake tried desperately. "I'll break out the champagne! Not for _you_ though, Finn, you're too young."

"_Wait_, Jake," She said patiently. "That was pretty good, but we don't want to undo all our hard work, _do_ we? Let's go for just a _little_ bit longer." This was met with a predictable amount of groans and suppressed, childish tantrums.

"A song can have all the catchy hooks and clever rhymes you want it to, but at the end of the day, without something personal behind it, it's just another distraction. You need to be able to _express_ yourself _openly_ and _honestly_."

"…And, how do I do that?"

Marceline stared at him for a moment, then laughed.

"Well, that's about the only thing I _can't_ teach you."

Finn's shoulders sagged slightly. "…_Oh_." Then his expression made a rebound. "Well…I could learn from example…can I hear something you wrote?"

Jake immediately picked up on this and jumped on the bandwagon. "_Yeah_, totally! I haven't heard one of your songs in a _while_, Marceline."

"I guess it's been decided then, huh?" She said, shrugging. "Well…alright. There is this _one_ song I have committed to memory. I wrote it a pretty long time ago—at least to you guys—so I'm not sure how it holds up, but I remember being somewhat proud of it."

The two of them sat and stared at her with the same mildly embarrassing expression of childlike wonder.

"Alright…just let me see if I can remember how it starts…"

_Sometimes it's important/ to let things go_

_Like a young girl mis/directed and told no_

_No knowledge of the inability/ to have grown old _

_No sense of belonging/ for a soul that has grown mold_

_I left you/ obsessed and persistent_

_I remained/ depressed and resistant _

_The pain in your brain/ festered subsistent _

_On an unchanged frame/ that attests to your sickness_

_Watching your friends die/ never becomes easy_

_Unless you succumb/ to the numbness that eats freely_

_You weren't the only one/ who didn't understand_

_When the words that came out/ often were not planned_

_For all my years/ there was much I could've learned from you_

_So much of my experience/ had been burned into_

_The ones who love us/ do such permanent damage_

_I imagine/ the same could be said/ for the mark that was made/ for the dead and the rest/ to be left on your canvas_

_But I guess in the end life is a test of what you can manage _

_And no matter how long it lasts it's either too fast or too slow or too average_

_You were always better you know the things that you could handle _

_Tackling all of the issues from each and every angle_

_And since nothing really ever ends for me the ending of this song is somewhat of a mystery _

_Suppose I'll employ an empty sentiment to all of the times that were always better spent _

_It really was nice just to know you at all_

Jake sat quietly, attentively, and sipped at his tea.

Finn, on the other hand, was seething with silent astonishment, his senses assaulted and overwhelmed by pure, musical bliss. As usual.

"That was…is it even _possible_ for you to write a bad song? It was kinda sad…but in a _good_ way. It made me…_feel_ things."

"That's what music is _supposed_ to do, Finn," Marceline said, smiling. "We know we've made something worthwhile if we can connect to the listener."

A thought occurred to him.

"Wait, _so_, Marceline. Who was that song about?"

"Just an old friend."

"Oh, alright," He turned to his beverage savoring, contemplative magical dog. "What'd you think, Jake?"

Jake lowered the mug from his lips and closed his eyes contentedly.

"It was good, man. I liked it." He lifted what was left of his delicate, herbal blend in salutation. "Mar-mar, you write some beautifully poetic things."

"Thanks Jake. I appreciate that, really," She paused in consideration. "We could take a break _now_ if you want, Finn."

"Hmmm…maybe just a short one. Get something to eat. I really just wanna get back to this as soon as possible, though."

"_That's_ the spirit!" Marceline exclaimed, punching his shoulder with enthusiastic vigor. "Gonna turn you into a Hip-Hop _hero_." She was pleasantly surprised by his perseverance. His attitude had definitely improved over the last few days, the daydreaming suppressed in the name of academic progress.

Finn laughed good-naturedly, rubbing his now sore shoulder.

"Cool."


	5. Breathe

Day 10

The sky was overcast, but no less captivating. Finn and a pleasant young woman comprised of fire sat in a salvaged antique boat, which he and Jake had reconfigured into a veranda of sorts. They had left the umbrella up, just in case.

"I_ like_ the rain," Flame Princess said.

"Mmmm," Was Finn's reply, his attention somewhat divided at the moment.

"I mean, _sure_ it hurts a whole lot, and if I stayed out in it long enough it'd probably kill me…but, don't you just _love_ the sound it makes on your roof when you sleep at night?"

"Uh-huh."

She turned to look at him, curious to see what was so engaging.

"What are you writing?"

"Just some lyrics for a song. Marceline's been teaching me how to rap."

"Oh, wow!" Her hair burned just the slightest bit brighter and her face swelled with luminescence. "Could I hear some, maybe?"

"It's not finished yet. Sorry."

She frowned and turned back towards the horizon. She held her head in her hands and sighed. "You know, you talk a lot about her. She seems really nice."

"…_Who_?" Finn bit the end of his already thoroughly gnawed pencil and scribbled purposefully in his thin bound notebook.

"Marceline. I mean, she must have seen _so_ _much_."

"Oh. Yeah, she's cool."

"…Will I get a chance to meet her one of these days?"

"Sure."

Leaning over the edge of the boat, FP noticed a small, modestly populated birds nest protruding from a fracture in its wooden hull. She observed the tiny, fragile creatures from a safe distance and smiled.

(Transition)

"Come on Finn, you need to _breathe_," Marceline said, a hand on either side of her forehead, trapping stray threads of hair beneath tensing fingers. "Everyone _does_—well, except for me I suppose, but you know what I mean."

Finn had wheezed out his last two lines and was now sprawled on the floor, gasping for medical attention. She had had him reciting lyrics from long dead rappers to see how his actual _form_ was.

"And your rhythm is all _wrong_. Remember what I said about syllables? Well that goes for pronunciation as well."

His eyes—the only part of his body capable of motion for the time being—trundled about to her position.

"Look: 'All be—cause this _fool_ was har—_ass_—ing them; Try—na play the _boy_ like he's _sac_—char—ine.' Hear where I'm putting the stress? Not just on the _beat_ but on specific syllables."

"I…_think_ so."

Marceline expelled hot air from her nostrils and maintained her regular breathing pattern.

"Do you want to try again?"

"I…have a question."

"Yes?"

"How am I supposed to breathe without _stopping_? I mean, it's not like I don't believe you, but I didn't hear that guy breathe _once_."

At this she grinned, mischief creeping into her tone, in spite of herself.

"That's right. You didn't _hear _him. Bit of a trade secret, I suppose. But _no_, all rappers actually _do_ breathe. Only they're short, quiet breaths, usually at the beginning of a line. If you write a verse correctly, you _will_ have space to take a breath, every so often. It also helps to take a deep one before you start rapping, just to give yourself plenty of air to work with."

"_Ohhhhhhhh_," Finn said. "That makes a lot of sense…Marceline?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I can do this?"

"Well…I don't see how _you're_ different than anyone else, Finn. If _I_ can do it, I'm pretty sure you can."

"Thanks," He said, still immobile. "I think I needed to hear that."

She offered a hand to help him up and then took a seat herself. "_Alright_, now: _you_ stand and rap, while _I_ sit in this comfortable chair."

Finn muttered and grumbled irritably, which was met by cackling of a somewhat maniacal nature. Marceline put the foot rest up and reclined. Perhaps the thing that people didn't realize was, while she was perfectly capable of staying off the ground indefinitely, that option didn't hold nearly the same type of sensory appeal.

Day 11

After about a week and a half's worth of lessons supplemented by various homework assignments and irregular practice, Finn and Marceline had gotten to a noteworthy place. Her student was nowhere near the last messiah of a dying art form, but he had gained competency quicker than one could reasonably suspect. Thankfully, his almost obsessive drive and his passion for tackling new challenges made the process all that much easier on her. He had been dedicated to the work—after a few initial bumps and divergences, of course—and he had even given _her_ ideas along the way about how to help him learn. Whenever _she _had felt like quitting, he had always motivated her, in some small way, to keep going.

"Good job, Finn!" The praise was coming a bit more frequently these days. "That's the first time I've heard you get through _Wild Wild West_ without any mistakes."

"_Thanks_," Finn replied, more than a little tired. "Any damsel that's in distress…"

"Be outta that dress," Marceline contributed.

"—When she meet Jim _West_." Finn finished, completing possibly the single greatest line in rap history and sharing a genuine moment of camaraderie even as they broke into simultaneous hysterical fits of laughter. And then, there was a silence. Not an unpleasant or anxious silence, but one born of contentment. It was only quiet because everything that _needed_ to be said already had been. It was one of those rare, irretrievable moments where two people were such in the same mind that they shared an almost _psychic_ connection.

"So…" He said. "PB is having another talent show soon. It's open to the whole kingdom, should be outdoors if everything goes as planned…I'm not sure if it'll be any _good_, but I've been writing something recently, and I think I'm gonna share it there…would you like to come watch me?"

"I'd _love_ to. When is it?"

"…It's this weekend. Sorry about the short notice. I meant to tell you before, but I guess I just never got around to it."

"That's alright," Marceline said, before donning a calculating face. "Of _course_, you realize what this means: …if you'd _like_, we have _two_ and a _half_ more days to prepare."

"That sounds _awesome_," Finn replied, eager for sixty straight hours of rigorous psychosomatic vocal training. "…But maybe _riiiight_ after some _Super Guts Punch_."


	6. Honest and Open

Despite the fact that the two of them had committed to intense, _Survivor_ style montage conditioning, Finn and Marceline had only met a few times over those two and a half days. Finn still had had a lot to do before the show, for one thing. Invitations were important, his first priority being his girlfriend who had taken an interest in his new hobby. After that though, there had been a substantial amount of people that he still wanted to be there, even if they would only add to his mildly-debilitating performance anxiety. On the other hand, he hadn't finished writing his song, and had needed some time alone for that. Marceline had needed to go shopping again. That and she had gone to visit her dad. She wasn't quite sure which was worse.

Looking out over the crowd, Finn saw that most of his guests had indeed shown up. Jake and Lady Rainicorn were sitting close to the front, and waved upon seeing him. A few of their children—not that you could really call them that anymore— had accompanied them as well. Tree Trunks and Mr. Pig were also there, the former of whom was handing out home-baked apple pies to the other attendees. Desert Princess and the former goblin king, Xergiok, were coincidentally seated next to each other, which would make for some interesting and unusual conversation.

Night had recently fallen, and the last of the light was draining rapidly from the sky. Princess Bubblegum found something incredibly appealing—_almost_ romantic—about the nighttime, and as such organized many of the kingdom's community events after dusk. She made her appearance that night modestly, foregoing her crown and other royal accouterments for baggy sweatpants and an old T-shirt that had seen better days. The princess of the Candy Kingdom moved about the sea of personalities effortlessly, stopping to socialize and commune with her citizens for indeterminate periods of time.

As the show would not begin for another twenty minutes or so, Finn had more or less been left to his own devices. He certainly _could've_ joined the rest of society and greeted everyone who had traveled from the furthest reaches of Ooo to see _him_ specifically, or—and of course, this was the option he had chosen—he could also hang back and obsess neurotically over his upcoming act and the massive audience he'd be scrutinized by. The other participants flitted about wispily backstage in a well-choreographed dance of organization, assisting each other when necessary, all making ready for what would _hopefully_ be their big moment.

(Transition)

Marceline was not in the back row. In fact, she was _behind_ the back row, two steps removed from everyone else. The notion of sitting was not a particularly appealing one. Instead, her indifference towards gravity would allow for one additionally seated patron, whatever that was worth. On a less philanthropic note, she also had no burning desire to be trapped in suffocating proximity between two presumably loud and obnoxious strangers.

"…_Hey!_"

She looked around, momentarily confused. The voice was completely unrecognizable, and she briefly wondered if _whoever_ it was was even speaking to her. All of that became irrelevant upon glimpsing her newfound company, upon which her eyes nearly dislodged themselves from their sockets to flee indiscriminately. A humanoid _inferno_ was approaching her now, a creature of nightmarish design and dubious intent unconceivable in even the darkest pits of the Nightosphere. It waved exuberantly and began its immutable charge. Marceline screamed internally.

Flame Princess approached the terrified vampire and smiled with appropriate warmth, considering her namesake.

"You must be Marceline," She said. "Finn's told me a lot about you."

The mental scream did not cease, but did lower slightly in timbre.

"…And you must be…his…_girlfriend_?" Finn had mentioned that he was seeing someone before, but he never used her name—not that Marceline had ever followed up—and had never described her at length. Now she saw why.

"Yeah," The non-metaphorically radiant youth confirmed. "My name's Flame Princess, but everyone just calls me FP. I'd shake your hand, but I'd probably incinerate you."

Marceline shuddered. She tried to put her mortal terror aside for a moment though.

"_Wait_, so, your name's _Flame Princess_? Like, your first name is _Flame_ and your last is _Princess_?"

"_Well_, no…but my dad makes everyone call me that. He says it's more intimidating than _Mollie_. He says it's harder to make friends with someone that doesn't have a name." She delivered all of this delightful information with a broad, implacable smile etched into her face.

"…_Right_," Marceline tried to process the strangeness of her new acquaintance, well aware of the irony involving her own..._unconventional_ upbringing. "So, I guess you came to see Finn then, huh?"

"Yeah. It was _really_ nice of you to teach him. And you didn't _charge_ him anything, either! I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it."

"Hey, don't even worry about it. Me and him go back a long way."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of inquisitive murmuring. Distant spotlights flooded the stage, rousing the previously restrained alacrity of Bubblegum's congregation.

"It's _starting_," FP stated, in a sort of hushed reverence. "Would you like to sit next to me?"

Marceline considered her proposition fearfully. "_Uhh_…maybe _near_ you?"

Princess Bubblegum whispered apologies for the unfinished conversations and hastily made her way to the platform. The first 'hello' was tenuous and half-certain, a trial run for the questionable microphone stand she had yet to meet the acquaintance of.

"…_Hello_! _Greetings_, all. I am _immeasurably_ proud to welcome you to the second annual Candy Kingdom talent show. Our first show was…pretty_ lame_, to be perfectly honest, but that was mainly due to the fact that I gave everyone _literally_ zero notice and only invited my close friends and...the people who live on my block. Oh well. But_ isn't_ that what next year is for? You have a slops prototype so the next whatchamacallit can be ten times _better_. This time around I invited the whole flippin' _kingdom_, and gave you all a month in advance to get ready. So you have no excuse _not_ to astound us with _spectacular_ displays of otherworldly awesomeness. _Truly_, my loyal peeps, whoever remains standing tonight in this gauntlet of _creativity_ and _ability_, we _all_ win. The contestants for taking part in something bigger than themselves, and _us _for getting to witness it all. This night will—"

Someone down below interjected loudly, bringing the chorus of soft, polite mutterings grinding to a halt.

"All _right_, we get it already. Let's _go_!"

At this the princess paused for a moment, and tilted her head thoughtfully. And then:

"You _know_, you're _right_, random candy citizen in the front row. This show isn't about me flappin' mah lips; it's about the talent _themselves_. And without further ado, here they _are_!"

Marceline stretched out lazily and scoffed.

"That's Bonnie for you. She's a real character, all right."

(Transition)

The night was long, and populated by bizarre individuals presenting equally bizarre displays of abnormality. Finn hadn't expected his would be the only musical act, and as predicted, there were at least a few. Among them there were a handful of bands of various genres and a singer/songwriter or two. Thankfully he didn't have to compete with any other rappers—at least not _yet_—although there was a group of spoken word poets that was pretty impressive. There were contestants who could have a conversation _backwards_ and those that were capable of escaping figurative coffins that would've made Houdini blush.

There were contestants that had been _born_ the show; men and women and creatures of all shapes and sizes that could remove limbs without harm, or wink in and out of existence. And _then _there were the miscellaneous ones. The individuals who, in all likelihood, shouldn't even have bothered showing up (that was something no one had the heart to tell them). The _whistlers_, the triangle soloists, the ventriloquists that couldn't throw their voices; the young men of ambiguous age that go onstage to deliver non-rhyming, non-rhythmic _treatises_ on just how much they love their mothers.

But inevitably, it would be _his_ turn. It was easy enough to passively judge the others who had come and gone, but soon he would be under the gun, and all humor would drain from the situation. Regardless of how he chose to mentally prepare himself, once he walked out under the glare of the lights and the people, whatever remained of his confidence would melt away.

And before he knew it, he was staring out at those same people, being blinded by those same lights.

"_Uhhh_…hi," He began. "My name is Finn, and this is my song." He placed down his faithful boombox, which contained within it a last minute production by a one Marceline the Vampire Queen. He found it surprisingly good, all things considered: cleanly mixed and infused with a personalized style. That basic structure the two of them had discussed oozed from the speakers and Finn raised the mic to his lips.

_Princess Bubblegum / I know that you're too old for me_

_And not just cuz it's told to me / it's partially_

_Cuz you're close to me / And maybe we're just meant to be _

_Friends anyway / who is saying destiny_

_Is reserved for the star/ crossed and if you think I'm love/ lost _

_Then maybe change your definition / my brother Plato_

_Would agree there's really nothing / missing_

_Video game lunches and castles / of sand mean as much as_

_Little boy crushes and holding / your hand_

_Love is love / and I love spending time / together_

_Rain or shine / company precedes the weather_

_And who really cares/ that I keep a lock of your hair_

_And that sometimes I might / watch or just stare_

_I just think / you're pretty and nice_

_I know that you are wise / so I will ask your advice_

_Getting to protect you / I can't put a price_

_On that junk / so don't ask me twice_

He hadn't even gotten to the part about her yet, and Marceline was already substantially embarrassed. The lights followed Finn as he moved across the stage, the human boy keeping decent rhythm as he went.

"This next verse is for my totally _math_ girlfriend," He announced, and Flame Princess attempted fruitlessly to disappear into her seat. She pretended like she didn't recognize the awkward, tube-shaped child waving to her.

_You were my se/cond love but no less potent_

_Stoked my heart's/ coals stay the cold ocean_

_I can stand your heat/ forego the sun lotion _

_The girl whose brash/ness brought out my emotion_

_When we met/ there was an immediate connection_

_When we came together/ via natural selection_

_You have a spirit/ that is dangerous and exciting_

_And a personality/ that is warm and inviting_

_Your father will whisper/ his words of evil_

_Doesn't appreciate/ the importance of being people_

_We all have rights/ man, and you're no different_

_Can't live for him/ and if that makes friction_

_I'll say it right to his face/ and fight for your freedom_

_To stop my advance/ he'll need a legion_

_Of his strongest men other/wise I'll leave him with lesions _

_Teach him a less/on without leaving you grieving_

His audience seemed to be responding positively to his words and presence, or _most_ of it anyway. He started his third verse then, which Marceline hoped would be his last.

_Topping the list/ of my three favorite girls_

_Marceline/ best teacher in the world_

_You're the reason I'm rappin'/ here, but that ain't what I'm talkin'/ bout_

_We express/ ourselves with a whisper or/ a shout_

_You taught me not to trust/ first impressions_

_But not in any/ of our tutoring sessions_

_A homewrecker and a demon/ you seemed to be lame_

_But turned out to be a rad/ical dame that plays games_

_And if I had been too/ quick to assign blame_

_Never would've fell in love/ with the princess of flame_

_There's this grumpy/ frosty old geezer_

_Little did I know/ that he had been beleague/red _

_Back when he was a no/ble fostering achiever _

_You turned a skeptical young boy/ to a believer_

_In the goodness of pe/ople that was anything but meager_

_In understanding/ I was a minor leaguer_

_To solve life's mysteries/ man was I ever eager_

_And the fact that this is second/-hand doesn't make it cheaper_

The sense of closure and exhilaration Finn felt after concluding his performance was only doubled by the immediate ovation he received. Almost—but not quite—forgetting one of the most important things his teacher had shared with him, he promptly dropped his mic, turned on his heel and strode aloofly backstage. Upon passing beyond the curtain, Finn was assailed by smaller-scale adulation from stage workers and competition alike. As a hero, he was used to the praise, so he didn't let it go to his head. Even so, it all felt exceptionally good. He felt as if he had achieved a great personal victory, even if he got no acknowledgement from the contest's judges. Then he saw the face of the only person whose opinion really mattered emerge pale and stoic from the darkness.

"Marceline, _hey_—" He faltered, her expression just now registering. "…What's up?"

"Finn…what were you _thinking_?"

As much as he wanted to question it, he thought it would better to just let her speak.

"…And after everything. I would've thought we were on the same page. I mean, we were _all_ _out_ _there_ for Grod's sake."

Try as he might to find his voice, Finn could only manage to stand there unhappily and shrink under her accusatory tone.

"You _really_ need to learn something about respect, kid. I—" She stumbled about her words in her frustration. "—I _mean_—do you have _anything _to say in your defense?"

The best he could do was a strained and muted apology.

"You're _unbelievable_," Marceline said, with genuine disgust in her eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your night, I _guess_."

With that, she walked off, not particularly concerned about the direction in which she went. Finn was left feeling more confused than anything else, though regret and self-loathing were prominent as well. The Vampire Queen's presence was replaced by those of Princess Bubblegum and his girlfriend, the latter of whom smiled half-heartedly and waved.

The candy monarch approached him judiciously, her expression non-judgmental but displeased all the same.

"_Sorry_, Finn," She said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Did I…do something _wrong_?"

"It wasn't _really _your fault, but there _was _a reason she was upset, yes."

He plopped himself gelatinously down on the floor, frowning intently.

"That song was…maybe a bit _too_ personal. And while I, _myself_, by this point am used to your, erm, _eccentricities_, it did make me a _little_ uncomfortable."

He ascended from his internal miasma for a brief moment to acknowledge his other visitor.

"FP…did I donk _you_ up with this too?"

The look on her face said enough, but she confirmed his suspicions regardless.

"…Finn, My dad is probably gonna have you executed now…I don't think I want to come to another of these shows. _Sorry_."

Though the young boy's disheartenment was palpable, it took only an instant for his spirit to right itself, along with the rest of his body. He stood up straight, fists clenched tight, sheer determination emanating from his pores.

"Thanks ladies," He said. "You have shown me the error of my ways, and now, I'm gonna _fix_ things. To the _extreme_."

Flame Princess got chills. Or whatever it was that fire people got in that circumstance.


	7. Teacher

…_But I also noticed something…strange. Something…I can't explain._

_Well, spit it out, man!_

_I—I—I can't seem to locate _our _heat signature._

It was reliable anyway; Marceline had to give it that. And familiar…and _comfortable_, even though that familiarity and comfort came at a steep, mind-numbing price. It really _was _amazing how quickly one's mood could change from one moment to the next. In one moment, she had been absolutely exuberant, completely invested in all the work that she and her young friend had put into this crazy, spontaneous personal project, and curious to see how far he had come in such a short time. And in the next she was frustrated and confused, questioning herself more than anything or anyone else.

In a way, Finn had taken her down with him. Student and teacher an embarrassment both to themselves _and _to the vast majority of the Candy Kingdom. She wondered why she cared so much about what those repulsive plebeians thought anyway. They occupied such little space in her life.

And then, because things tended to happen in patterns, the phone rang. She picked it up, well aware of whom it would be.

"Marceline, I'm calling to apologize," Finn said, with an enviable confidence. "_Properly_."

"…Alright," She replied, somewhat hesitantly.

"I should have considered your feelings. And not _just_ yours, either…I wasn't saying anything _bad_...I didn't think it would be a big deal. I guess I was wrong."

She sighed.

"It's okay. I might've…_overreacted_ a bit. I usually do. I just…_why_ did you think it would be a good idea to include our _names_? Writers can _imply_ things, Finn. You can still write a song about someone…just try to make it a little more _discreet_ next time."

"I was just trying to follow your teachings," He said. "You told me to make something personal. To be _honest_ and open."

"I _did_ say that, _didn't_ I," Silence from her side of the line. "Y'know, I'm starting to think this was a mistake. _My _mistake. Not yours. I mean, _me_, a teacher?"

She laughed. It was short, strangled, and slightly hysterical.

"I mean, how the heck am _I_ supposed to teach _any_one _any_thing?"

"Marceline, you better squash that jazz _right_ now," Finn's voice was again strong and commanding, and it surprised her a little.

"I learn stuff from you all the time, just from being _around_ you," He said. "You're brilliant, and funny, and super _cool_. Before you started teaching me, I was just a pathetic, poopy, rhythmless diaper baby. And I just performed a _three_-_verse_ _rap_ on _stage_ in front of _hundreds_ of people! Okay, so maybe my flow wasn't _all_ that great, and my voice was a little shaky, but I didn't mess up _once_. I _never_ could've done that two weeks ago."

Finn waited anxiously. His enthusiasm died fast when he heard faint sobbing coming from the other end.

"See?" She asked weakly. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. _I'm _supposed to be the adult here. I should be the one making _you _feel better about stuff, not the other way around."

"_But_—" He protested. "Those things I said are still true, right?"

"No, Finn, they're not." She attempted to compose herself the best she could. "You could've gotten the same results with anyone else. You were able to do all this because _you_ are amazing. And the fact that it only took you two weeks—_less_ than two weeks—only proves my point. _You _took the initiative to learn. _You _chose to be in the show. All _I _did was share what I know, and that's the _least _a teacher can do."

And he said nothing to that, mainly because there was very little he could think of to say. He wished he was there in person, so he could at least hold her. After a considerable period of time, Marceline decided to dispel the silence. She deeply regretted the things she had just said.

"_Hey_, so, do you wanna come over and watch _Heat Signature_?"

"…Sure."

(Transition)

So he came over and they watched the movie she had previously viewed _ad nauseam_, but which was made considerably better with another person to poke fun at its clichés and ridicule its poorly groomed actors and their egregious performances. And the two of them laughed and joked, and ate popcorn and listened to music—and Finn mostly forgot about their previous conversation. Eventually they even reconvened their lessons, albeit less frequently, and life in Ooo passed pretty much as it always had. Finn and Marceline remained friends, and very little would ever get in the way of that.


End file.
